The List
by Cheezer-One
Summary: Over the course of four years, Al had accumulated a list of exactly 1,352 things he wanted to do when he got his body back. These are just a few.
1. The Very First Thing

**The List**

**Summary:** Over the course of four years, Al had accumulated a list of exactly 1,352 things he wanted to do when he got his body back. These are just a few.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I just sort of borrow the characters and twist them into my own plots for my, and others', amusement.

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><p><strong>1: The Very First Thing<strong>

To say that it had been somewhat of a shock to be suddenly thrust into his body, and from there, waking up next-to-naked on a battlefield in a much larger, thinner, weaker, all-around weirder body than he had last remembered, would have been an understatement. He sudden sensations of sunlight passing through his sensitive corneas blinded him and made him dizzy, the feel of warm sunlight, the passing wind, the cold stone, and the thick, heavy fabric of his brother's coat all pressed down and forced sensation onto his skin at once—almost painfully. He tried to ignore the hypersensitivity of his body and honestly did try to hear what his brother and father was saying, and may have even responded to one of their questions, but couldn't remember.

The little bit of attention his mind could spare to focus on something other than sensory overload sat hunched just in front of him, smiling warmly and reaching his fingers out palm-up and fanning widely towards him almost in greeting. Alphonse hadn't even realized that his arm moved to meet his father's outstretched hand until he saw them wrap around each other in greeting—and was immediately met with the warm, tingling sensation of skin-to-skin contact with another human being. It felt as though electricity jolted through him from each microscopic point of contact, and he couldn't hide the grin that formed—sensation. _Touch_. Oh, how he had missed it.

Al must have looked ready to swoon, because the next thing he knew, his brother was grabbing his shoulder and holding him steady. He turned his head to face his brother, both fascinated to once again have to look _up_ to see him, and trying to remember the exact mechanics of maneuvering his neck and skull. It was almost like snapping awake in the middle of the night, too quickly for the body to adjust, and having to sit or lay in bed for a few seconds in a semi-paralyzed moment of confusion while the brain's control solidified and anchored itself throughout the body. He saw Ed's face contort into a stony mask of hidden concern—though his effort to hide his fear was completely undone by the look in his eyes—and with a gentle squeeze to Alphonse's much-too-bony shoulder, relaxed when the younger Elric stretched the skin of his mouth and offered a brilliant smile in return.

_I'm back,_ he relayed. _It'll take some getting used to, but I'm back._

_I'm okay._

When Ed took just one more extra second to be sure, then released his brother and stood back, Al was greeted with a wave of friends, acquaintances and mentors alike, congratulating him on achieving the impossible. After everyone had crowded around to see his face (a majority having not actually seeing any of the old family photos or knowing him before the failed human transmutation) and he had been given a bit of air, his first attempts to stand had been both hilarious and worrisome.

His muscles were eaten away, barely more than sheets of meet to rest between his skin and bones, connecting the tissues of his joints and tendons—housing veins and what little nutrients were coursing through his body. It must have been adrenaline alone that had actually let him move and speak to a few eager friends, checking in on his mental well-being and trying not to let the effect of the state of his body show too much on their faces.

The shift in his suddenly out-of-whack weight, the sudden realization that his muscles were horrendously atrophied, and absolute lack of balance had his attempt to get up be little more than a curl of his legs, a shocked grunt, and the immediate wave of near hysteric panic that filled everyone's already addled nerves when he crashed back rather harshly against the ragged stone rubble of Central, and fell unconscious.

Later, when Alphonse woke up in a clean (though noisy) hospital room, he couldn't keep the grin from his face when he realized that he could at least check off one of the things on his long list of 'Things I Want to Do'.

He'd finally, for the first time in four years, been able to sleep.


	2. Number 18

**The List**

**Summary:** Over the course of four years, Al had accumulated a list of exactly 1,352 things he wanted to do when he got his body back. These are just a few.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I just sort of borrow the characters and twist them into my own plots for my, and others', amusement.

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><p><strong>Number 18<br>**

"I don't _care_ if the cafeteria doesn't have it—_find some!"_

Al winced slightly at the sound of his brother's voice thundering through the closed door to his private room—a gift from the Colonel, pulling a few strings to ensure Al's comfort as a sort-of farewell present to Ed's enslavement via military affiliation. He might not have been able to clap his hands and unleash an unfathomable amount of destruction and chaos at the slightest whim any more—but nobody was quite so dumb as to forget that Ed didn't exactly need Alchemy to be intimidating. Barely taller than the average fifteen-year-old and able to make a face ominous and terrifying (or maybe just stupid) enough to have foot-soldiers confused and very willing to follow any order in the madhouse that was Ametaris' government with a sharp salute and quick as lightning _'yes, sir!'_. Al sighed, too worn out (from just being _awake_) to try and chastise his brother for abusing authority he didn't even technically have anymore.

If Ed didn't calm down soon, someone (probably the Colonel or that scary sister of Major Armstrong's) would find their way to the source and _make him_ shut up.

And really, though Ed was only causing such a ruckus for Al's benefit (frivolous though it was) he was growing irritated with the shouting. He was slowly but surely forming the mother of all migraines, but even so, wouldn't dare tell the not-quite-the-pipsqueak-he-used-to-be older Elric to put a sock in it.

He let out a shaky breath and sank just a bit further into his sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get used to the sensation of so much hair flooding his face and shoulders from every angle. Split-ends and choppy, uneven growths of the neglected mess frizzed up and clung to his skin—making him itch in the worst ways, and agitating him even more because even after half a week, he still wasn't used to any of the hundreds of innocuous little sensations and feather-light touches that a normal person wouldn't even register in daily life.

He'd almost managed to relax again, maybe even drifted off into another light nap, but was just as quickly thrown out of it with a vicious bark of laughter coupled with the door to his room literally flying open and smashing into the wall that held it. Al couldn't see it with the curtains surrounding his cot blocking the view, but he would be willing to bet that the hinges were more than a little disjoined.

Ed strutted in with a box wrapped in bright yellow paper in his hands and a shit-eating-grin threatening to split his face from ear to ear as he proudly made his way up to the side of his silently irate brother's side.

"You _so_ love me right now." he grinned cheekily.

Al snorted. "At the moment, it's debatable. I think I saw the windows shaking when you were yelling." He deadpanned, enjoying the startled look on his brother's face—but closed his eyes and forced himself to sit up as best he could when Ed's grin just got wider. "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

Ed smugly lifted his chin, basking in the glory of achieving the ever-so-daunting task of getting a few military goons to do his bidding—like the evil overlord that he totally was. Or so Ed liked to sometimes think, anyway. "Bet your bony ass it is, little brother," he gloated as he sat the box down on the edge of the bed and started the menial task of untying and unwrapping the novelty packaging.

Al's mouth started to overflow with saliva when the paper wrappings were tossed aside, and (with a little difficulty from not quite having his motor functions in his right hand completely recovered) Ed lifted the lid of the box, and the scent of freshly baked, sugary, much-too-unhealthy-for-someone-recovering-from-severe-emaciation bits of deliciousness wafted to his nose.

The younger brother's eyes nearly rolled back into his skull from the ecstasy.

"You sure you're ready for something like this?" Ed asked, reaching into the box and pulling one of the little pieces of heaven out and looking at it more closely. Apparently, they weren't exactly what he had thought they'd be, or, had forgotten in his haste to make sure that Al would get exactly what he wanted _when_ he wanted that they could very well rot his brother's weakened, mineral deprived teeth out in a single bite.

Al didn't care. He shot Ed a look that clearly and efficiently told him _to shut up and hand them over. Now._

To which Ed, almost as if just because he was being issued a challenge, promptly shoved the apple fritter in his mouth and ate the entire thing in two bites.

Al didn't really care. There were still five more.

And they lasted all of two minutes.

He was pretty sure that he'd developed a cavity, or maybe even might have heightened his risks for diabetes with his out-of-whack metabolism, and later, when he was fighting off nausea because there was a _reason_ people don't eat that much sugar in one sitting, he bore it with a grin.

_Number 18: Eat Fresh Apple Fritters With Ed._

_Check._

And they were _delicious._

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><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>

**PS:** Please be sure to go to my profile and vote on which story you would next like me to work on. Thanks!**  
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